


Chiasma

by fraisemilk



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:37:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraisemilk/pseuds/fraisemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But then he thinks, as the distant barking turns into a distant wailing: these aren’t dogs, these are human lungs.<br/>(Gintoki in his cell)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiasma

It is just a whisper behind his eyes, in the black hole between his ears; just a whisper, uttered in the back of his skull until he feels like banging his head against the walls of his cell. Until he feels like shouting, screaming - _creak clink cry yelp hiss_ – to let the whispering come out of its lair, to free himself from the lethargic unstopping pain.

At first he thinks: these aren’t voices, these are barks. The distant barks of black gigantic dogs. But then he thinks, as the distant barking turns into a distant wailing: these aren’t dogs, these are human lungs. Lamentation and cries dislocate like bones and become voices, voices of unknown names and faces glued to nightmares.   

Ironically, it is when the pain is the worst that the voices disappear. When men hit and break his ribs, color his skin blue blood red yellow, paint a threatening mask on his face; I deserve it. I deserve it. This name must melt away, dissolve like burning liquid.

When the voices come back in this exhausted demon’s skull, they lovingly coil up between nerves and blood vessels and sing melodies of fatal tales and unblemished deaths.

Defeated wrongdoer. Slayed monster. He hears the men’s shouting but cannot quite make out the words in the blurry beats of his heart. Then the silence breaks the buzz of pain, opens it wide and makes him look up. A man stands there. He holds another man’s wrist in his hand. There is strength in this hand and pity in his eyes. “Stop”, he says. Have you no shame, he adds, maybe. The demon doesn’t really hear. It feels itself melt and dissolve in suddenly tangible pain.

He wakes up in a cell. The voices aren’t there. A man is there. “What’s your name?” he says. What’s your name, he asks. What’s your name? What is his name? In his head he answers - His name is: “Shiroyasha”. It is also: “White Demon”, “Child”, “Kid”. It has been, at some point, “soldier” and “killer”. Now it is: “monster” “prisoner” “guilty”.

(Two words were given to him, on a remote day in the middle of a far-off September. He cannot vocalize them anymore; maybe one day he’ll remember how to articulate the syllables and deliver this sacred title to the world. In this dark cell he is not quite sure he could.)

“Why don’t you answer?”

\----

Uttered words whispered danger shouting dancing in a very dark rain. It is night and this is not rain – it is red. Men and monsters yelp and roar like mountains and hurricanes; die like butterflies caught in a flame. War is terrible. It crashes on them and doesn’t let them reach the coast; they are condemned to crawl and struggle against its black waves. I must fight! (something ugly he finds under his skin) Kill! Survive! (blood runs in the veins of both monsters and men)

He understands: under my skin, there is blood, and under my blood, there is a monster.

It is a name given to him – White Demon – and it is an ego.

In the fight he sometimes forgets his _real_ name. Just like when you forget the ground is under your feet. But _katsura_ and _takasugi_ and _sakamoto_ , they remember; they speak and the void passes away.

\----

Alone in a cell, he is not an oddity, nor a living being. He is – "it" –. I deserve it. I deserve it. “It” is the constant aching void that stretches in his mind; twin of a spider web; dark threads in a darker space; “it” is the spider; gigantic; invisible; he waits for it to eat his remains.

The whispers in his head, were they always this loud?  They buzz like tiny insects in his ears. _Creak clank clink buzz hiss_ ; there is somewhere in his heart an uproar, a clamor; I don’t want to deserve it. I don’t want to be there. Where am I. What are you doing? What am I doing?

\----

“What will cut away your sins and save your soul –

“What do you think it is, exactly, Sakata Gintoki?”

\----

There, that is how you pronounce it: “Gii-n-too-kii”.

\----

The voices stop suddenly as the memory reaches the shores of his conscience. The quiescence isn’t deafening as he feared it would be. Remembering isn’t painful; it doesn’t make his bones ache nor does it transform his skin into sore dots of dark colors. On the contrary, it quietens his body’s tremors, puts an end to his terror.

\----

You are very, very alive. In the dead silence of the night, you walk and try to run. Everything aches, but you cannot help but think: this is a good ache. For the first time in what feels like an eternity (one month, one year, ten years?), you are alone with the ground under your feet. Your head feels light on your shoulders.

The darkness has quieted down but it is not gone; yet as you run away from your cell and your punishment you think: maybe there is a way. What will cut away Sakata Gintoki’s sins and save Sakata Gintoki’s soul?

You go forward.

I will find people. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes hello i spend my time complaining about Gintoki's unhappiness and keep writing about Gintoki being in pain. Let's call that coping, ok?  
> HC: Gintoki got some pretty bad flashbacks when he got imprisoned in chap 340/ep 225. 
> 
> English isn't my first language; feel free to point out any mistake.  
> Comments & Kudos are sweet and appreciated!


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